Chapter One

“The Age of Mercenaries is best understood by the age which came before it. During the Age of Light, King Daris the Mad abolished the standing Royal Army of Dromrhan, and issued a decree forbidding any noble house to hold men or women under arms. Of course, no nobleman or woman would agree to such a decree, but the king’s word was law, and even without the Royal Army, they had little choice. Daris still sat upon the Dragonstone Throne, and thus still controlled the mighty dragons that had been enslaved by its magic.

The abolition of personal forces did not, however, bring an end to the nobles’ grudges, their petty squabbles, or their schemes for the throne. To that end, the noble houses began a roundabout plan to still hold armies at their command: They would sign official Mercenary Charters, creating great mercenary companies that would work for the highest bidder.

Of course, with hindsight, the uprising of the Companies and the overthrow of the throne would appear inevitable, but to those living at the end of the Age of Light and the beginning of the Age of Mercenaries, it was impossible to imagine the Silver Swords Company as villains. Especially as their ruthless pursuit of profit would not reach its zenith until that Age was firmly established…”

- Holbrok Gracien, History of Domrhan Vol. 7: The Age of Mercenaries

“Has there ever been a more perfect day for a siege?” Vance Hext asked the Major standing next to him, not looking away from the throngs of men surrounding the small port town. In the distance his ships were sailing in a tight cordon, not letting a single vessel through their blockade. The sun was gleaming brightly in the sky, and the crisp spring air carried the scent of wheat from the fields towards their noses. He took a moment to smell the air as well, a wide smile appearing on his face as he felt the wind’s caress in his long silver hair. Almost as an afterthought, he brushed a small speck of dirt that the wind deposited on the gleaming steel of his left pauldron. His armor was a mixture of shining steel plates and brilliant white robes, meant to display his status while protecting him from attack. The Major was similarly dressed, though with a helmet covering half of his face, only the man’s mouth and jaw revealed to the morning air.

“Never before Master Hext. And I doubt we shall see a day like this one in some time.” He said. Vance nodded, reaching to a drink being offered by a young woman with a silver torque around her neck. The Company Master regarded her for a moment, then waved dismissively, and two soldiers escorted her away.

“Ah, so true Major… And so unfortunate it all has to end today. I would have liked to carry this on until the rains began. Let the men cut loose and have the rain wash their blades clean.” Vance said, before taking a sip from the drink with a smile. “The screaming would sound so much lovelier in the rain.” The Major laughed, drawing his short sword, and inspecting its edge.

“Agreed Master Hext. But, since it must end now… Should I give the orders?” He asked, an ugly smile on his face. Vance shook his head, taking another sip from his drink after.

“No my dear Major. It must end today, yes, but there’s no need to rush.” He said, before finishing the drink and tossing the goblet it came in aside. “We’ll let them starve just a bit longer before we put them out of their misery.” The Major smiled again, this time revealing rows of sharpened teeth.

* * *

Out on the waters near the town, a small dinghy was carefully picking its way through the blockade, sailing just close enough to hide under the larger ships’ massive frames. The lone passenger was dressed in a ragged green cloak, the hood pulled up to hide their face as they rowed silently through the cordon of ships towards the village harbor. When it reached the last ship of the blockade the dinghy stopped, one thousand five hundred from the coast. A quarter of a mile of open water with no hiding spaces for the tiny boat to slip into. The figure aboard didn’t seem to mind much, simply pulling out a small vial of white liquid and silently opening it, downing the contents in a single swig.

The figure strapped a large waterproof bag to their back, then plunged off the side of the dinghy into the water. No bubbles appeared on the surface after the figure took the plunge.

* * *

An old man sat in a cart, pulled by a ragged-looking mare towards the village. He hacked and coughed as he went, the cart loaded with barrels and crates. The mare stopped with a tired snort as it neared a roadblock, several men in uniforms standing around it.

“What’s the meaning of this?” The old man asked before another hacking fit overtook him. The men all laughed, one of their number stepping forward. His uniform was emblazoned with a silver sword.

“Your eyes as bad as your luck old man? This is a roadblock, manned by the finest Mercenary Company in all of Domrhan, the Silver Swords.” The man said, before quickly drawing his blade to point it at the old man. “Now unless you want to lose your life, I’d suggest you turn around.”

“Oh, but I must make it to town… I have so much ale to sell, and if I don’t get through then I may lose my home!” The old man said, his voice trembling as he recoiled from the sword. The roadblock guard took a moment to think, before chuckling to himself and sheathing his blade.

“Well now old man, you didn’t tell us you had ale in that cart of yours…” He said, before looking to his compatriots, who were likewise smiling. “Hows about we make a deal… You give each of us a mug, we’ll let you through to our camp. You’ll sell it all for much, much more there than in that old town.”

“Heheh, yeah. Especially once Master Hext gets done with that old eyesore.” One of the other guards laughed. The old man did not speak, simply watching them from beneath his hood, before simply nodding.

“Ah well… I suppose one mug each wouldn’t be too much of a loss…” He said, before coughing again.

* * *

At the bottom of the bay, the cloaked figure marched, pack weighing heavily on them as they went. Boots sunk deep into the muck and sand, then were pulled free again for the next step. It was a long walk especially on the bottom of the ocean, but it was a necessary one, and they were glad to take it. They even counted steps in their head, forced to guess the approximate number to travel the quarter-mile from where the dinghy had been abandoned to the edge of the docks.

‘Five hundred one, five hundred two…’ Even with the potion’s aid, the trip was long, and the going slowed by each sucking step and the immense weight of the water pressing around them. But still, they marched on.

* * *

“Thank you for the directions, young men. I do hope your camp is as wealthy as you say.” The old man said, reigns slapping on the mare’s hindquarters, the cart lurching forward slowly past the now cleared roadblock. The men guarding the road simply laughed.

“Of course it is! We’re Silver Swords!” The men called, before moving together. “And no one gets paid like a Silver Sword Mercenary!” Their united shout was ended with tankards clacking against each other, the men taking a stiff belt of the ale the old man had given them. The old man put a finger to his chin, humming to himself a moment as he continued on the road.

“Now was that the ale… Or the poison?” He whispered to himself, turning back to look at the men. One by one they fell to the ground, retching and spitting, foaming at the mouth and convulsing. One man’s eyes were bulging out of his face, as the others simply twitched and gagged, unable to take a breath through the thick foam.

“Ah, what happy coincidence. It was the poison.” The old man said, smiling under his hood before turning his attention to the road again. “Such nice young men, giving me directions to exactly where I want to go.” With another hard slap of the reigns, the mare moved to a trot, pulling the cart at a bit more speed.

“Onward Cresia… We have a siege to break.” He said, launching into a cackling laugh that devolved into a phlegm-filled coughing fit.

* * *

Company Master Vance Hext smiled as he watched the camp preparing for the afternoon’s assault. Now that the men knew exactly when they were to storm the village they were making the final preparations. Archers were being instructed on their positions to take for the final bombardment, footmen were receiving their marshaling orders, and captains were being drilled on the value of the town and what to target first. Vance couldn’t help but smile as he watched the preparations from his pavilion tent, high on a hill to watch the men gathering.

“We will be ready to assault the city in an hour Master Hext.” The Major said, stepping up to the tent. “All orders are given, and the men from the roadblocks will be recalled in one hour to join their regiments for the plunder.” Vance smiled, before snapping his fingers. The servant girl from before approached with another drink, quickly backing away as he snatched it from her.

“Wonderful news Major. I do love it when everything goes to plan. Have they sent out emissaries to entreat for mercy yet?” He asked, turning to take a sip from the goblet once more.

“No sir. I believe they are too weak to even beg now.” The Major responded. Vance opened his mouth to speak, before seeing a ragged-looking horse and cart approaching the camp from the north.

“What, is that?” He asked, scowling. “And how did it get past the roadblock?” The Major stammered a moment, before quickly standing at attention.

“Master Hext, allow me to handle this. I assure you this mistake will be corrected at once.” He said, before quickly sprinting down the hill, the clanking of his plate armor fading into the sounds of the camp quickly.

“See to it that is.” Vance muttered to himself, before sipping once more.

* * *

It had been a month-long siege, and Dreth was on its last legs. A small town, relatively unimportant, they had so seldom experienced anything like this that their meager winter food stores had already run out within the first week of the siege. The people lay about the streets, barely strong enough to keep standing. Those that tried to flee had been killed and flung back over the city wall by the Silver Sword's trebuchets.

“Gods what I wouldn’t do for some bread…” A dock guard groaned, leaning on his spear for support. His compatriot reached to try and smack him in the back of the head, but in his weakened state all he could manage was to fan the man’s leg.

“Shaddup Grath… You’re gonna make me hungry again…” The second guard said, before both of them clutched at their stomachs, wincing. The guard called Grath looked as a starving old dog wandered along the docks, sniffing at the planks as it walked. He elbowed his companion, pointing at the dog slowly. As they both watched the starving hound pass, they tried to gather the strength to give chase.

Before they could move, a loud wet slap drew their attention. A hand had just grabbed the edge of the dock, then a figure started to pull themselves out of the water, dressed in a green cloak and carrying a large sack on its back. The two men turned their energy towards the newcomer, quickly trying to turn their spears.

“W-who are you!?” The second demanded. Their hands trembled, and their very legs looked set to give out. The figure said nothing, walking towards them both with a confident stride.

“S-stay back! I’m warning you!” Grath shouted. His companion tried to lunge at the figure, but his legs were too weak, and he fell flat on his face. Grath looked in horror as the figure stepped closer, one wet hand grabbing his spear, and with a swift motion snapped the sharpened metal head from the haft.

Grath dropped to his knees, prayers to the gods on his lips, begging for a swift and painless death. The figure said nothing, before taking off the sack on its back, opening it, and pulling out two paper-wrapped packages. The first they placed in front of his fellow guard. The second was held out to him. Grath took it gently, hands still shaking as he looked at the package. The figure then hauled the bag back onto its back and walked into the town proper. Only when they were out of sight did he think to open the package.

Inside the paper were several smaller paper packages, each one marked with a symbol. Bread, meat, cheese, and fruit, all drawn in crude black ink on the package. Grath gingerly opened the package with the meat drawn on it. Three dried sausages, packed for road travel were inside. He quickly opened the rest of the packages; hardtack, an aged wedge of cheese, and several dried slices of apple spilling out onto the larger paper that was wrapped around the package. It was only once everything was out that he realized what he was holding, what this strange figure from the waters had given him.

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It was a mercenary ration pack.

* * *

The old man smiled as he was stopped at the edge of the camp by the guards. A large man in heavy plate mail approached the cart, his stance screaming to all around his status as a high-ranking officer.

“What is the meaning of this? How did you get past the roadblock?” The Major growled, angry that something could have slipped by his men and reached the siege camp. The old man stroked his white beard, thinking quietly to himself.

“There was a roadblock? I don’t seem to remember one…” He said. “I was just coming to sell my ale in town… But when I heard that the Silver Sword Company was here, well I felt compelled to come and pay my respects.” He slowly turned to grab a small barrel, a spigot already sunk into the side.

“I had hoped that some of my finest ale would please the commander of this camp, and that I might be able to donate some more to the cause of keeping peace in this part of Domrahn.” The old man said. The Major didn’t move for several moments, before looking to the men.

“Our ale has been running low… And I suppose Master Hext would overlook such a generous donation slipping through our cordon.” He said, before motioning to the men. The soldiers immediately hopped to attention and started unloading the cart, rolling the barrels towards a small cluster of tents near the far side of the camp. The old man watched them go for a few moments, before turning to the Major.

“Is that all good sir? I would like very much to give this barrel to Master Hext myself…” He said, before coughing loudly. The Major shook his head, walking over to grab the barrel roughly from the old man.

“I think not. Master Hext has much more pressing matters to deal with than some old merchant.” He growled, sharpened teeth flashing. “Get out of here. Once the siege is over I’ll tell Master Hext of your, donation.” He then turned to storm back up the hill towards the pavilion tent. The old man sighed, looking towards the village of Dreth for a moment.

“Certainly taking one’s time…” He murmured, before starting to turn the cart around. And then towards the tents the barrels had been carried to. The men that had transported the barrels were already running back to their posts, not paying any heed to an old man on his cart.

* * *

The soaked figure walked towards the wall of the village, handing out more paper packages as it went. The more the word spread that someone was bringing food into Dreth, the more the crowd formed, flanking the soaked figure on each side as they continued to march. The figure had stopped handing out the packages when it reached the center of town, where a large fountain of freshwater sat. The water was still clear, the magic seals that protected it from the decay and mold that would form without such spells the only part of the town still functioning through the siege.

The figure paused a moment at the fountain, looking at the way the water spilled from the simple basin at the top to the wider one at the bottom. Then it carefully set the sack down next to the fountain, where all the crowd could see as it fell over, mercenary ration packages falling out of the opening, still perfectly dry despite the long walk across the bottom of the bay. The silent and sopping figure then took a long drink from the fountain, cupping the water in its already soaked hands, before turning to march towards the gate leading into Dreth. As it marched it placed a hand over a small broach on the cloak, a wave of heated air spilling out of the interior to quickly dry the figure’s cold and soaking form as they walked.

When the figure reached the wall, all of the guards were still at their posts, a handful of citizens of Dreth trying their best to bring packages to their defenders. The figure simply walked past them to the stairs, marching to the top of the gate wordlessly. The guards, too preoccupied with the arrival of a meal, however meager, didn’t note the arrival of the newcomer until they were standing atop the gate, next to the controls. Before they could shout to get away, the figure stepped on top of a gap in the crenelations of the wall, standing between the great stones for a moment. The figure unclasped the cloak, letting it fall to the ground behind them to reveal a gleaming suit of steel armor, painted brilliant crimson, with a symbol emblazoned on the back; a mountain, a great flame forming at its base. Then the figure simply stepped over the edge of the wall and fell to the ground. And when they landed, the earth shook.

* * *

Vance Hext looked as his Major approached with a small cask of ale in his hands, smiling. Vance said nothing, dumping his goblet on the ground for now and raising an eyebrow. The Major bowed, offering his prize to the Company Master.

“A humble merchant my lord, coming to offer tribute to the company.” The Major said. “He sent his best ale for yourself to sample.” Vance looked at the cask, then his goblet, then the torque-wearing servant girl in chains behind him.

“I’m waiting.” He said flatly, and the girl quickly scrambled to take the goblet and fill it from the cask. When she turned to offer it to him he held up his hand towards her.

“Drink it.” He ordered. The servant girl nodded, taking a sip of the ale. The Major looked at his master, mouth hanging slightly open, as though to speak, but Vance held up a hand to him as well. Several moments passed before the young woman suddenly began to retch. Foam formed at her lips as she choked, sputtered, and collapsed, convulsing on the ground. Vance said nothing, watching the agonizingly slow way the servant girl died, then equally slowly turned to look at his Major.

“I… My…” The man haltingly tried to find his voice, but Vance simply held an open hand to the tent. A sword flew from within the Master’s personal field quarters and to his hand, the hilt sliding into his outstretched fingers easily. With an unblinking stare and impossible speed, Vance swung, the Major unable to even register where he had been struck.

Then his head fell into the grass atop the hill, his body following a few seconds after. Vance turned to one of his soldiers, who jumped a moment at the withering stare the Company Master fixed him with.

“Congratulations Captain. You’ve been promoted.” Vance said, before walking back towards his tent. “Now order the charge.” The Captain, now a Major, quickly saluted, before the earth shook beneath them all.

* * *

The old man had reached the supply tents, watching the number of guards surrounding them as he passed by them, his mare barely looking up from the grass as it walked. The guards paid him no mind, simply relaxing and playing cards as they guarded the tents. A few men were already trying to set up the barrels he’d delivered for the celebration once the siege ended. This got a chuckle from the old man, as he stopped his cart in the middle of the cluster of tents. One of the guards looked up from his game towards the cart, before getting up.

“Hey, old-timer! This is a Silver Swords camp. You can’t just park in the middle of the path like that.” He said. The old man didn’t respond, simply looking through his cloak’s pockets for something and muttering.

“Hey! I said you can’t stop there!” The guard shouted again, marching over now. “What, has your hearing gone with your mind?” The old man stopped a moment, before looking to the guard.

“Oh no, I’m just looking for my smoke bomb.” He said. Gone was the creak in his voice, the haggard cough. He sounded like a man half his age, or less even. The guard was dumbstruck for several seconds, watching this old man speak before the ground shook beneath his feet. That snapped him back to reality, and he prepared to yell something. Then a crossbow bolt slammed through his open mouth and out the back of his neck.

The cloaked man flicked a lever on the crossbow he held, the entire device barely longer than his forearm, and it slowly wound the string back as another bolt dropped from the case sitting atop it. As the other guards quickly scrambled to their feet, drawing their blades, the man threw a fist-sized orb at the ground, wreathing the area in thick black smoke.

The closest of the guards were caught in the smokescreen, coughing as the heavy black cloud entered their lungs. They tried to stagger back to a position where they could see, trying to keep facing the cart at the center of the smoke. Then the coughing turned to screams, as a distinctive fwip punctuated the air. Bolts were flying in a constant barrage, hitting the guards in unarmored areas. A few were lucky enough to have forgotten their helmets, taking a bolt to the head and dying in seconds. Others had the misfortune of being prepared and found themselves falling to the ground as bolts punched through their chain-mail armor, piercing lungs and cracking ribs as they sunk in.

The cloaked man walked out of the smoke cloud, pausing only to expend one final bolt on a soldier charging him from the left side. With the guards now disposed of, the man drew several small black rods from a pocket on his cloak, ducking into the first supply tent he came to. Once inside he quickly knelt down, drawing out a knuckle cover made of steel and a hunk of sharpened flint from another pocket. He dropped one of the sticks, a blackened hunk of what appeared to be coal about as long and thick as a finger, before quickly striking the steel guard against the flint, spraying sparks onto it. A moment later the black rod began to smoke profusely, and the man quickly bolted out of the tent and ran for the next one.

* * *

The Mercenary at the gate of Dreth stood slowly, cracks in the earth around their feet from their impact. As the figure watched the quickly marshaling forces of the Silver Swords Company, they simply began to walk forward, red armor shining in the midday sun. They were anything but inconspicuous, as almost every soldier in the enemy line was watching the approach when they weren’t looking to their superiors for orders. An order was given, and a tide of arrows was loosed, heading for the lone soldier from above.

The Mercenary had been preparing for this, quickly dropping to one knee and slamming their fist into the ground. A surge of red light surrounded them, before two hemispheres of stone rose out of the earth, surrounding the Mercenary in a shield of solid rock. Arrows bounced harmlessly off the dome or simply embedded themselves in weaker cracks. A shout went up among the commanding officers, and the Mercenary put their hands forward to open the sphere encasing them. The archers were lining up to fire again, and the Mercenary smiled. Red light filled the sphere, before suddenly it exploded forward, hunks of stone as large as a man’s arm flying forth towards the Silver Swords’ lines.

The archers scarcely had time to realize what hit them, as rocks slammed into the men in front of the line, crushing bones and sending them sprawling. The Mercenary was bolting across the ground now at full speed, red light surrounding their body as they summoned forth still more power. Shouts were made for the soldiers to form ranks and hold, but several felt their nerve break at the sight of this heavily armored warrior rushing them alone.

Then the Mercenary stopped their charge, leaped into the air, and slammed their fist into the earth again. Another heavy quake shook the area, before earthen spikes spread forth in an arc towards the Silver Sword lines. This finally broke all cohesion the army had, as the stone spikes shot up from below their very feet. Those whose armor was ill-fitting or improperly worn found spikes of sharpened stone puncturing any exposed skin. Gambesons were torn into by the rocky spears, chain-mail hauberks punctured or buckled under the weight of the ground striking them at such speed. Commanders attempted to scream their men into ranks, but the lines broke. The siege was turning into a rout.

The Mercenary looked up at the chaos in the enemy lines, before seeing a rolling tide of smoke from the enemy’s camp itself. As men rushed back into the camp in an attempt to flee, many were cut down by bolt fire. The Mercenary in the field allowed themselves a moment to relax before a bolt of lightning arced from the camp and slammed into them, sending their helmet flying as they were thrown back.

“I should commend you for your courage. I had not expected another company to defend this worthless little port against me.” Vance Hext said, walking calmly past the spikes, his steel armor gleaming gray. The Mercenary slowly stood up, face now revealed.

The first noticeable thing was the shape of the Mercenary’s face, a strong jawline smoothing at the chin, still in the prime of youth. The second was that she was a young woman. The Mercenary felt Vance’s eyes scanning her raven black hair, cut short to fit into her helmet, then the confident smirk playing on her lips as he approached. The last thing his eyes lingered on was her own, dark brown and steadily turning red as she called Aether to her. She saw Vance’s own eyes began to glow silver, Aether flowing from his surroundings and into his body.

The Mercenary woman felt the power rising from the earth through her feet, up her legs, and into her chest, a brilliant orange line connecting her to the earth through her thick leather boots. Vance’s Aether was drawn in from the air, through his mouth and nose, into his lungs, each breath filling them with life-giving air and power granting Aether in tandem. It was a stare-down now, each watching the other for movement, the slightest twitch of in the other's Aether, the first sign of a spell being flung.

The stalemate broke when a small fwip sounded. Vance quickly turned to see a black crossbow bolt flying towards him, and he hurled an arc of lightning at it, noticing only too late the glass orb tipping the projectile. The glass instantly shattered and a tide of frigid liquid spilled forth, instantly freezing into ice and starting to spread even larger. At best, a distraction. At worst, a debilitating blow that would have left part of his body frozen and immobile until the ice thawed.

The Mercenary quickly launched her own assault now, hurling an explosion of Aether-charged rock at Vance from her position, stones the size of fists flying towards him. Vance quickly diverted his Aether into his hand, slicing the air in front of the bolt and creating a brilliant purple gash where it passed. The bolt passed into this tear in the air, before another appeared between Vance and the stones, the frozen hunk of metal now catching the rocks and blocking them from reaching him. From the smoke the cloaked man appeared, quickly reloading one of his crossbows with a new magazine as he raced across the grass.

The woman saw Vance point his hand towards her, another arc of lightning lancing out. She quickly dove aside, rolling along the ground towards her helmet and grabbing it quickly. The Company Master turned to fire lightning at the Infiltrator, who drew a gleaming blade from his side and caught the arcing bolts with it. The lightning instantly dissipated into the surrounding air, harmless sparks of Aether fading swiftly.

“A silver blade, a repeating crossbow, and Amber Wyvern Venom. You’re from the Shadow City, aren’t you?” Vance asked before another large stone was hurled at him. Vance this time splayed his hand behind himself, stepping back through a portal. The cloaked man quickly turned, sword and crossbow in hand as he watched for an assault. The woman likewise spun, waiting to see where the attack would come from. As it turned out, it came from above, as each of them narrowly avoided a bolt from the skies above.

“Your aim is slipping!” The cloaked man shouted, before whipping around to aim his crossbow skyward, seeing Vance hovering in the air. As the shot flew another jolt of electricity flew forth, before arcing around the projectile and heading straight for the man himself. The woman in red armor slammed her fist to the ground, and a shield of dirt appeared between him and the Company Master’s magic, deflecting the lightning into the ground around the Infiltrator. Vance then teleported again, vanishing from his spot in the air before the crossbow bolt could connect.

Vance reappeared behind the woman in red, raising his blade to strike. The woman quickly threw up her arms, trying to block the blow with her plated gauntlets, when another bolt flew. This time the glass-tipped projectile connected with its target and a torrent of ice flowed over Vance’s hand, upper arm, and sword, freezing them instantly. With a roar he vanished again, jumping away before his foe could realize the opening she had.

The Infiltrator and the Mercenary ran to each other, standing back to back to watch for Vance’s next strike. The Mercenary quickly threw on her helmet, her companion carefully pointing his crossbow with one hand and gripping his sword tight with the other. Each turned instantly when they heard his voice coming from the camp. Vance stood with his sword arm still frozen and an enraged expression on his face. His officers ran over to him, begging him to allow the army to retreat and break off the siege. The supply tents were burning, the men had routed already, and these two couldn’t be the only forces arrayed against them.

Vance looked at his officer corps, then at the two warriors arrayed against him, and with a snarl ordered the retreat. The men quickly ran out of the camp, heading for the surrounding woods. The warriors between the camp and Dreth watched them run, then breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

“Well… Guess that’s one way to break a siege…” The red armored Mercenary said. “You didn’t actually set the supplies on fire, did you?” She looked to her companion, who shook his head as he slowly removed his hood and face mask.

“No, just some smokesticks. Though I did set some of the tents next to the supplies on fire to make certain they believed it.” He said. “How was the town looking?”

“Not good. Had to hand out all the rations we stole from that supply caravan we hit on the way here.” She answered, before taking off her helmet. “We were really lucky they chose to run.” She looked to her ally, before turning towards Dreth.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. We had a plan, and we stuck to it.” The Infiltrator said. “Even if we did hit a snag or two along the way, we still got the job done. So let’s go get paid!” The Mercenary woman chuckled as she shook her head, slapping him on the back.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a one-track mind, Garret?” She asked, smiling broadly.

“Only every day since I forged your Mercenary Charter, Sigrid.” He replied flatly, causing her smile to vanish into a scowl. A scowl which itself only dissipated when the gates of Dreth started to open before them both.